


Snapshots of You and Me

by innerdialogue



Category: Skins (UK)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-07
Updated: 2014-01-07
Packaged: 2018-01-07 20:50:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1124243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/innerdialogue/pseuds/innerdialogue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of short drabbly things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

020: Bouncy

He doesn't know the exact reason, but Tony loves to watch Maxxie's hair as he dances. True, there were much more interesting parts of Maxxie to watch as he moves around the dance floor, but Tony doesn't care. He likes how Maxxie's hair bounces as he dances, reflecting the many lights in the club. It was the hair that sticks to Maxxie's forehead after coming home from practice, the same hair that Tony runs his fingers through as they curl up on the couch, the same hair that Tony tugs on roughly in their more private moments. It was Maxxie's hair, and to Tony that made it one of the most interesting things in the known universe.

 

021: Busy

Maxxie understands that Tony is busy. Successful law careers don't build themselves, so it was natural that he spends several hours in the office, going over case files and preparing witnesses for the stand. He got that, he did. So when opening night of his show finally rolls around Tony says that he'll try to make it but he's knee-deep in depositions and the senior partners are breathing down his neck, Maxxie tries not to take it personally. His boyfriend works for a living; Maxxie does too. So he dances like Tony is in the audience, watching him. He dances like he's never danced before; putting everything he has into the moves, foot over foot, leap by leap. And after the show, when Tony is waiting at the backstage door with a small bouquet of roses, Maxxie knows that they will both be very, very busy very soon.

 

022: Calm

Tony jumps when the bus drives by, seizing Maxxie's hand and holding on for dear life. It surprises Maxxie, but he squeezes right back, letting his friend know that he's there for him and that everything is okay. Maxxie can almost feel Tony's pulse from where their shoulders are touching, and he doesn't like how worked up he is.  
"Hey, it's okay," he says, nudging Tony's shoulder. "You're alright."  
Tony nods shakily, swallowing huge gulps of air. Maxxie expects him to take his hand back, but Tony only lets up on the pressure, keeping their fingers intertwined. Maxxie smiles to himself and briefly ghosts his thumb across Tony's knuckles. Surprisingly, all anxiety in the taller boy's shoulders evaporates, and he relaxes, leaning slightly into Maxxie's shoulder. Just like that, Tony calms down, and Maxxie couldn't be happier.

 


	2. Chapter 2

023 Grateful

As far as parties go, this one is pretty lame.

It's not Michelle's fault that I'm having a bad time, I suppose. She's done really well with the music and the food, and Chris has supplied some quality pharmaceuticals and all. I'm distracted tonight, is all.

Even dancing doesn't help. After my fifth straight song of moving on the dance floor I spot Tony sitting by himself on the couch near the window, his arms wrapped tightly around his middle. He looks as though he's trying to make himself as small as possible. An impossible task, mind you, when you're fucking six-foot-four.

Pushing my way through the crowd in Michelle's sitting room I throw myself onto the sofa beside him, giving him a bright smile.

"All right, Tone?" I ask, having to yell because of the loud music. "You've been sitting here all night!"

He shrugs, and my smile falters. I thought this would be a good idea, you know? Try to get him back into the swing of things with a small party, just people from school and a couple of their friends. Smaller scale, you know, after the freakout he had at the last party.

"Come and have a dance with me?" I ask, leaning against his shoulder. "You love this song!"

He only shakes his head. "No thanks, mate."

I sigh and prepare to stand when Anwar stumbles over to us. On his arm hangs a girl whose name I cannot pronounce. She's a German exchange student, and the poor thing is unlucky enough to have breasts the size of grapefruits so of course Anwar won't leave her alone.

"Ah, here they are!" Anwar exclaims, dragging her along. "Tony and Maxxie! Tony, here, got hit by a bus!"

He laughs loudly, slopping beer down his front. The girl tries to wave at Tony, but he only nods his head in return."

"And that's Maxxie!" Anwar yells, jabbing a thumb in my direction. "He's gay!"

Wonderful, Anwar. Is that my only identifier lately? Not dancer, nor artist, not even his bloody best bloody friend in the entire universe.

The girl either doesn't hear him or doesn't understand because her eyebrows knit together in confusion. "Vut?"

Anwar leaned forward. "Gay! A queer, you know?"

She shakes her head, pointing to her ear. "I don't..."

Anwar sighs in frustration and sucks in a deep breath. "He's a faggot!"

The entire party screeches to a halt. It seems that during the brief pause in which the last song had ended and the new track was beginning everyone has heard him. Michelle and Jal are staring in disbelief, their jaws slack. Chris is fidgeting in his seat on the sofa, and Cassie is oblivious as always.

It's like ice has been poured down my back. My stomach turns violently and I feel as though I'm going to be sick right here, all over Michelle's mum's new rug.

Anwar's face falls—having realized he's messed up, perhaps—and he opens his mouth to say something a split second before Tony's fist connects with his face. His German chic-let screams as he falls back, clutching his nose in both hands. Even in the low light I can see his chin and shirt are slick with blood. Tony is standing above him, drawing his arm back for a second blow.

"Tony, no!" Michelle screams. "Stop it!"

He doesn't seem to be listening, and I barely grab his arm before he hits Anwar again. He tries to break my grip, but I pull him back, hauling him into the hallway and throw the front door open, dumping us both onto the darkened front step.

"What the fuck was that, Tone?" I demand, slamming the door shut. He jumps to the sidewalk and begins to pace, muttering under his breath. I've never seen him like this; Tony is nothing but calm and collected. He's never even yells let alone starts throwing punches in the middle of a party. That's more of Chris's department. But now, Tony's as angry and I've ever seen him.

"That shitfaced, motherfucking cunt!" he spits, whirling around to face me. "Did you hear what he called you?"

"I heard, Tony," I reply, sighing. I sink onto the top step, resting my elbows on my knees. "He was drunk. It's not a big—"

"Don't you fucking dare say it's not a big deal!" Tony snaps, jabbing his finger in my face. "Its inexcusable! You just don't say shit like that,to anyone much less a friend! Christ!" He slams his hand against the cement wall. "He's your best friend for fuck's sake, Max! How can you let him treat you like that?"

I don't answer, leaving us to sit in silence. I choose to stare at my shoes, picking at the frayed knee of my jeans as I listen to him breathe above me. After what seems like hours he finally slumps down beside me.

"Let me see your hand," I say, holding out my own.

"It's fine," he replies shortly.

"I wasn't asking, Tone."

He glares at me with those deep blue eyes, but I fix him with a glare that I seem to have picked up from my mother. Finally he huffs and rolls his eyes. "Whatever."

Gingerly taking his left hand in mine, I turn it over to look at the knuckles. "There's blood, but I think its mostly Anwar's. Can you move your fingers?"

He wiggles them.

"Good," I say, running my thumb over his knuckles as lightly as I can. "I don't think they're broken. Your hand is just going to be sore in the morning. How do you expect your parents to keep letting me take you out if you keep getting roughed up, huh?"

The corners of his mouth twitch. There we go.

Keeping his hand in mine, I look at him. "You really shouldn't have hit him, you know that, right?"

Tony opens his mouth to protest, but I continued speaking, not allowing any interruption. "You can't just punch someone out because they call me something foul, Tone. You have to trust that I can take care of myself. I've done a pretty good job of it up until now, don't you think?"

He nods once, staring into his lap. "I know. It's just..."

I lean sideways, nudging his shoulder. "What is it?"

"You took care of me after I got flattened by that bus," he explains.

"It wasn't a problem," I reply hastily. "Anyone would have—"

"But they didn't!" Tony snaps. Something in his face changes, and the color of his eyes darkens. "No one fucking did anything for me except for you. You visited me every day in the hospital, you dragged me around Bristol after I got out. You fucking taught me how to write for fuck's sake! You're my best friend, Maxxie, so sometimes...I feel like I have to return the favor, you know?"

I smile. "Be that as it may, Tony, I can't have you punching out every git who calls me a name. You'd have to attack half of the entire city if you wanted to do that."

"Not funny."

"You're right it's not," I reply, nodding. "But hey, you know what? Even thought I can't exactly condone what you did, I can't say that I didn't appreciate it on some level. So, thanks, I guess. For defending my honor or some shit like that."

He nods and takes back his hand, rubbing it.

"Next time, though, when I need a knight in shining armor, I'll ask for one, alright?" I ask, smiling.

He narrows his eyes and gives me a side-long glance. "Do I have to gay you now?"

"Fuck off!" I laugh, jumping to my feet. I hold out a hand for his good one and pull him upright as well. "Now let's blow this Popsicle stand. I'm fucking hungry."

Tony laughs and follows me down the sidewalk.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After waking up from their first night together, Maxxie has a little meltdown and runs. When he returns home he must face the consequences and a very confused Tony

It's late when Maxxie finally lets himself back into the flat. He turns the deadbolt and drops his keys into the little dish on the table by the door. Tony's are lying in the dish as well, meaning that he's somewhere in the flat. A small miracle in of itself.

"I'm home," he calls tentatively, shrugging of his jacket and hanging it up. He steps out of his trainers and moves into the living room. Tony is stretched out on the sofa, reaching a book. He glances up at Maxxie briefly but doesn't speak.

"Are you hungry?" Maxxie lamely holds up the bag of Indian takeout. H hate it—it stinks up the flat, and the smell won't leave for days—but Tony loves it, so he's brought it as an attempt at a peace offering.

If it will lessen the shit he's in, he'll do anything.

Tony looks up from his book. He doesn't say anything, just raises an eyebrow. His eyes move from Maxxie's face to the bag in his hand back to his face. "What's this?"

"Bombay Palace."

"You hate Indian food," he replies coolly, sliding a bookmark into his novel and setting it aside.

"I do," Maxxie says, setting the bad onto the counter. "We'll burn the flat down tomorrow, just get in here and eat."

Tony reluctantly stands and follows Max into the small kitchen of their flat. As Maxxie begins to unload the food, Tony takes out silverware. They don't speak, and to Maxxie its deafening.

"Pretty decent disappearing act you pulled this morning," Tony says, breaking the silence. He reaches into the cupboard above the fridge and pulls out a bottle of wine. "You should really think about going into the magic business. Make a killing at birthday parties."

"I'm sorry," Maxxie replies. "I know I just—I freaked out, alright?"

Tony sets the bottle onto the counter with a loud thunk. "About what?"

Maxxie pulls out the rest of the takeout from the bad and sets it to join the wine. He leans against the counter, resting his chin against his chest. Finally, after several minutes of silence, he looks up.

"I didn't want to be there when you woke up and decided that the whole thing was a mistake," Maxxie says. He doesn't want to say what he really wants to. That he was a mistake.

Tony chuckles, rolling his eyes. "When have I ever regretted having sex?"

Maxxie looks at him sharply. "I'm serious! I basically forced you into it. We were drunk, Tony! We were drunk, and I was lonely and angry, and I tricked you into it."

"You're giving yourself to much credit here, Max," Tony laughs. "I don't do anything that I don't want to do. Surely you know that."

Maxxie stops short. "I—what?"

"You're such an idiot," Tony mutters, shaking his head.

Maxxie opens his mouth to spit an angry retort, but Tony cuts him off by grabbing the front of his shirt and pulling roughly toward him so that they are only separated by a hair. Before Maxxie can even form the impulse to push him away Tony fiercely presses his lips against Maxxie's. Everything in the flat dissappears, and the only thing that matters—that exists—is them and this point in time and space where their lips meet.

"Don't you realize how important you are to me?" Tony whispers.

Maxxie can only stare at him, trying to comprehend what had just happened.

Tony shakes his hand and grabs his wrist, pulling him toward the bedroom.

"What about the food?" Maxxie asks.

Tony smiles, slipping his hands into the seat of Maxxie's pants and squeezing. "S'what microwaves are for, Max."


	4. Chapter 4

001\. Accomplished

"You've got to slow it down," I say, resting my weight against the back of the chair and leaning over his shoulder. "Stop trying to write; it's just a shape your hand makes."

Tony huffs in frustration and leans back in the chair. I issue a sigh of my own and kneel on the ground. I tear the page from the drawing pad, revealing a new, clean sheet.

"Just close your eyes, " I say, looking up at him. "And kind of...dance it."

Closing his eyes, Tony puts pen to paper. He hols the pen awkwardly as he moves his entire arm to write. The letters take shape this time, and he is able to scrawl his first name clearly across the page.

T-O-N-Y.

I smile. "Tony."

The handwriting is still rough—large, clumsy, ugly letters that take up a lot of space on the page—but its just enough for him to smile.

His hand moves again. The movements are still shaky, but I can tell that something inside his head has clicked.

S-T-O-N-E-M.

He looks up again, and his face splits into the first real grin that I've seen since the accident.

It's beautiful.


End file.
